When David came to the shop today I made him listen to me tell him about the large squares of coloured glass I had already received for Christmas this year from my husband. These were being fitted into and around my front door which received a drenching of light every afternoon. I imagined a cathedral but really this was just my front door. I had my colours organised but the glass artist changed them because he said my colours were not going to obey me. He said that colours quarrel. My dark colours would go black and stay there. They sulk.
He changed my panes to rose, champagne, sage green, ice and an invisible gold. I complained that now there was no colour. And there wasn’t. He said there would be, that these would cooperate and allow each other a fair turn in the light and that they would change as the light changed and show all of their personalities. My dark ones would just turn their backs on me especially if they did not have enough space.
I said I did not know any of this. He replied that it was understandable, everyone is busy. But there is nothing so busy with its own concerns as a piece of stained glass. Each piece of glass thinks it is right. They needed to be treated subtly and with cunning to get them to all do what you want without them knowing.
Well, my glass panels are up and fat with warmth and light and they are breathtaking and the artist, with his dreadlocks and tools in the dusty workshop was absolutely correct. In the morning they are quiet and smooth and rich, in the evening they become hilarious and show blue and purple even though this is impossible.
David said that this is true: colours, like books, are impossible.
(Photography by Ramin Rahmani Nejad)